Morning After
by Making Marla
Summary: WIP. The winter holidays were suposed to be relaxing. They would have been, too, if Bill hadn't kissed Charlie. Featuring several imagined conversations and one very real kiss. BillCharlie slash, incest
1. Imagined Conversations

**Morning After**

Part 1: Imagined Conversations

Charlie woke up with a lingering warmth in his belly, like waking up on Christmas, or (he liked to imagine) waking up after a night of great sex. The feeling lasted all of ten seconds, which was when Charlie realized that the cause of the warmth was sleeping on the far side of their room, with long legs spilling over the edges of a tiny bed that wasn't his. Which is how it's supposed to be, Charlie reasoned as he felt himself fall still (that was really how he would prefer to put it. It wasn't as if he told his muscles to tighten like maybe he was afraid, or had something to be afraid of). Because Bill wasn't supposed to on Charlie's bed, or wear anything but pajama's to bed, or taste like he should be kissed forever.

Hearing the light snoring from across the room didn't loosen the muscles of Charlie's hunched shoulders, but it gave him time to think about what he was going to say in the morning. After a good half an hour, Charlie's imagination had set up a very specific scenerio: he would be downstairs picking at the instant oatmeal Molly left in the kitchen for morning people like himself, and Bill would half stumble down the stairs with blurry eyes, muttering something about food. Charlie would nod to the pot and around mouthfuls of oatmeal, he'd say, "I heard the Harpies lost to the Kestrels,"

Bill would roll his eyes and say, "Because girls can't play Quidditch, right?"

"Glad to hear you're finally admitting it, big brother," he'd reply smugly. Except maybe he would leave out the "big brother" part.

"Chauvinist," Bill would say, and Charlie would hide a grin because he liked the way Bill rolled words off his tongue when he was being righteous, and not at all think about that tongue lapping against his own.

If the conversation lagged, Charlie would mention how he didn't understand why girls liked that Witches Brew band, and Bill would say, "You mean Witches _Spew_?" and they'd snicker, even though the joke was ages old. Unless Bill knew Charlie liked to sing WB songs in the shower, and if that point was brought up, Charlie would say that even if they were bad, the songs were _catchy_.

Bill would shove him lightly, and they'd scuffle on the floor without thinking about how their thighs were pressed together, or how their breath mingled pleasantly, and no mistletoe would be around for another year. Then Molly would come in with sleepiness hanging from the bags under her eyes and Ginny resting on one hip, and break them up before starting breakfast.

And everything would revert back to normal.

* * *

He must have taken longer than he thought to get ready, because Charlie was only in the kitchen for fifteen minutes before he heard a distinct stumbling sound on the creaky stairwell. The quickening of his heart definitely must have been due to the lack of food in his stomach, and Charlie search for a packet of Smeagol's Instant Oatmeal became earnest.

By the time a particularly familiar head of hair peek around the corner (and it was particular because no one else's hair flopped past their ears or had that certain Bill-ness to it), Charlie thought his chest might combust. Or explode. Definitely explode, Charlie amended, knowing Bill would laugh at how he liked to think of combust as explode because they sounded as if they should be synonymous.

Bill walked in blurry eyed, as expected, but when he saw Charlie, he paused mid-step before muttering something about food. It went exactly as Charlie planned, except for the slight pause and the fact that Bill's eyes cleared for that moment, and then clouded with something other than sleep.

"IheardtheHarpieslosttotheKestrels," Charlie said, still frantically searching for the oatmeal and hoping that he didn't sound as stupid as he thought he did.

"It was a close game, though," Bill replied, slipping into a chair with one lazy motion that made Charlie swallow hard and wonder at how Bill did everything with such lazy ease. Like flying, or smiling. Like kissing.

"Um, yes," Charlie said because he couldn't remember what he would usually say, and the tingling blush that trailed up his neck to burn his ears wasn't helping with his concentration.

The silence that followed wasn't the comradely type. Charlie spent the time rustling through the kitchen and trying to think up something to say. "Good morning," seemed a little belated, and mentioning the Witches Brew just seemed out of place, so he settled for an awkward, "Did you get what you wanted?"

Bill blinked, his mouth dropping open just enough to flash his two front teeth. "What?"

"You know, for Christmas," Charlie said, mind working furiously to discover the possible insinuations Bill might have gotten out of that.

Slouching lower in his chair, Bill nodded and licked his lips.

Charlie decided then that the tightening of his pajama bottoms was probably spontaneous. Arthur had that particular talk with him when he was twelve, and it was the only logical explanation. Still, he thought it might be better if he sat down (or at least less obvious, because natural or not it was exceedingly embarrassing, like how girls thought their monthlies were embarrassing—and he really did not need to think about that just before breakfast).

So he pulled up a chair from across the table of Bill, making sure his legs were spread just enough to not be considered improper. He tried to think of something else to say, but dismissed every subject as stupid. Soon, his leg began doing that nervous bouncing thing that he knew Bill hated, even though he's told Bill repeatedly that he really couldn't help it. But Bill just kept perfectly still and didn't say anything. Not even when Charlie's foot accidentally brushed against his calf. Not even when Charlie's foot purposefully began to trail up his calf.

"Mum!" Bill voice cracked for the first time in years. Charlie would have laughed if he had't feel quite so breathless.

Molly breezed by with Ginny on balanced on her hips, ruffling Bill's hair ("Remind me that you need a haircut, Bill, dear,") and gasping when she saw Charlie. "I completely forgot to buy more oatmeal!"

"S'Okay, Mum," Bill cut in before Charlie could get in a grumble. "Charlie and I have gotten some time to catch up," he finished, shrugging and smiling his I'm-such-a-nice-boy smile, while refusing to let Charlie catch his eyes.

"Good for you, boys," Molly said, eyes crinkling. "And don't think this means I'm letting you grow out that hair, Bill,"

Bill's smile turned rueful as he asked, "Want me to take Ginniekins?" He tickled her under her chin, and Ginny made a flailing motion toward him.

Molly handed the toddler off, and said, "Charlie? Could you wake up the twins and Percy? Ron still needs another hour."

Charlie replied, "Sure, Mum," and began to trudge up the stairs as the smell of eggs and Ginny's girlish giggle quickly began to permeate through the Burrow. Everything was back to normal, and all Charlie wanted was the awkwardness that confessed the previous night had not just been a dream.

**Author's Notes: **Ah, Weasleycest. Non-angsty Weasleycest. Whoo whoop.


	2. Nobody Likes Pumpkin Mush

**Morning After**

Part 2: Nobody Likes Pumpkin Mush

Waking up the twins was no easy task.

Percy was easy: Charlie only needed to shake his little brother lightly on the shoulder. A soft, "Time to get up, Perce," was enough to jar the younger boy out of his slumber. Percy rubbed his eyes and blinked owlishly, automatically reaching for the thick spectacles that rested on his nightstand.

"Shall I wake up Fred and George?" Percy asked in his important little boy way. His thin chest was puffed up so much that Charlie had to grin and poke it with his finger. The chest quickly deflated.

"Thanks for the offer, but I think Mum wants me to handle this," Charlie answered, ruffling Percy's hair as he made his way to the twins' bed.

Charlie didn't quite miss Percy's puckered pout, but he was too caught up in the task ahead to comment.

With a deep breath, he bent over the two slumbering boys. They slept peacefully on a single bed, legs entwined, red hair floating about their small freckled faces. Fecking devil children, they were. Even though they looked all innocent-like at the moment, Charlie knew the terror of babysitting them, so he didn't feel too bad when he bellowed, "GET UP!"

In the corner of his eyes, he saw that Percy has been pulling a pair of trousers on. The trousers dropped at the yell in favor of cupping his hands around his ears.

The twins rolled over.

"Don't—"

"—Wanna,"

Came the two muffled replies.

Charlie very much wanted to know how they did that. It was downright creepy. He thought it would be pretty brilliant if he and Bill could learn to do it. Of course, besides the twins he only knew of couples that could finish each other's sentences. And they certainly weren't that. A couple, that is. Well, they were a couple of people, but not a couple-couple, what with holding hands and kissing—

With a shake of his head to clear it, Charlie leaned over the twins once more and told them in a low, menacing voice, "Mum says if you don't get up right now you have to go on with your morning lessons with _no breakfast_."

The twins jumped up with a start, dashing out their room and down the stairs still wearing their matching blue pyjamas. Charlie smiled in satisfaction, and gave a shove to encourage the primly-dressed Percy to follow the twins.

It was good to be the older brother.

* * *

If there's one way to stop thinking about a kiss, it's watching a toddler spit up on itself. Ginny laughed gleefully, clapping her hands. The pumpkin mush that was once on her hands splattered to her face and clothing. It made goopy noises. Charlie made a face of disgust. 

Being an older brother was sodding awful.

He glanced over at Bill, who was masterfully avoiding the splattering of the twins' meal; half the food on their plates was donated to a food fight artillery. Bill easily sidestepped the bits of toast and egg that flew about his head, and surreptitiously flicked Fred and George's ears when Molly left to set up the boys' morning lessons.

When Molly returned, Bill's hands retreated to his pockets and he smiled nice and big. "All right, Mum?"

Their mum smoothed out her already frazzled hair that was coming unbound, red hair sticking at odd angles. Patting her oldest son's shoulder, she replied kindly, "Of course, dear,"

Bill gave the twins a significant look. "Are their lessons going to be in the kitchen today? Fred and George said they'd be happy to clean up their mess," he said. There was a wicked glint in his eye that meant mischief; it was a glint that Molly never seemed to notice.

The glint had been there when Bill slung his arm over Charlie's shoulder the night before. They sat together on Charlie's bed for most of the night, the sides of their bodies pressed close.

Charlie hand must have trembled from sleep deprivation. Pumpkin mush slid off the spoon in his hand and landed on Ginny's head with a plop. Ginny tilted her face up, as if trying to see the orange mush that was nearly the same color as her fuzzy hair. She patted that bit of hair with one hand, smearing the mush all over her little round head. Charlie glanced around and sighed in relief when he realized that Molly's attention was completely on Fred (at least Charlie thought it was Fred), who had a wicked glint of his own.

It didn't have quite the same effect as Bill's, as Fred had crumbs clinging to his mouth and cheeks, but Charlie gave it and E for Effort. "Not us…" he said in a low, secret tone. "Ginny!"

"Ginny said that she would clean up her mess?" Molly asked, both eyebrows raised at Fred, who was pointing to their little sister who was currently covered in orange mush. Ginny ignored the attention in favor of trying to touch her toes, the only part of her body that was clean.

Fred nodded eagerly, and George joined in with a chant of "Ginny! Ginny! Ginny!"

Molly shook her head and sighed long-sufferingly. "You know what I told you about fibbing, you two. Now, we're going to have lessons in the family room today, so go on," she said, waving the boys to out.

The twins raced out and Molly handed Ginny to Percy—"Put her down for a nap, will you, dear?"

Percy carried the toddler at arms length while Molly turned to Bill and Charlie. "Now boys," she began.

"Mum," Percy interrupted.

"I know it's the holidays,"

"Mum," Percy said again, clearing his throat. Charlie wondered where the younger boy learned that.

"But I've already talk to—"

"Mother!" Percy finally shouted, face red.

"There's no need to shout, Percy," Molly admonished. "Now what is it that can't wait?"

Percy looked quite put out as he held out the sticky little girl out to their mother. Molly flushed. "Oh dear," she said, then cast a quick cleaning spell.

"Thank you," Percy said in his formal way. Charlie almost expected a little bow to follow the words. Instead, Percy followed the twins route out of the kitchen, struggling to hold Ginny in his two thin arms.

As Charlie and Bill tried to sneak up the stairs, Molly caught them by their collars.

"Now, what was I saying?"

* * *

Bill and Charlie lined up next to each other, like Aurors lined up and waiting for their arduous assignment. Or like two Azkaban prisoners preparing for the Dementor's Kiss. 

"You boys know the lovely new couple who just moved nearby don't you? The Lovegoods?" Molly asked, flitting around the kitchen. She flicked several spells in rapid fire: a cleaning spell on the messy remains of the twins' breakfast, a boiling spell on a pot of tea, and a watering spell for the wilting snapdragon that was potted on the windowsill.

Charlie and Bill's answer came in a muttered chorus of "Yes, Mum,"

"Well, Mrs. Lovegood has a little girl about Ginny's age who's been sick with some exotic fever. Really, can you imagine taking a child that age to Sweden? Anyhow, they could really use some help with their garden gnome problem, and I told Mrs. Lovegood that you would be happy to help."

If it were any other morning, Charlie knew that this would be the appropriate moment to exchange an exasperated glance with Bill. They were in their Hogwarts years already and their mum was _still_ volunteering them without asking. Really, didn't she know anything?

"She's expecting you in…ten minutes! Oh, that should be enough time for you boys to walk there, shouldn't it?"

"Walk?" Charlie groaned. This was just getting unreasonable. "Can't we just Floo there?"

"The Lovegoods just bought a Muggle house. They haven't yet connected to the Floo Network," Molly explained. "Now shoo, or you two will be late!" she said, ushering them out the door and shoving their coats in their hands.

With a grumble, Charlie let himself be pushed out. His shoulder brushed Bill's for a split second as they simultaneously crowded the doorframe. Bill's shoulder was warm underneath a thin shirt, worn away from too many cleaning spells.

Charlie almost swallowed his grumble.

"Oh, and don't talk to any strange Muggles!" Molly called after them as they made their way down the road.

This time, the exchange of an amused look was unavoidable. Charlie held back a laugh, and Bill's lips were quirked into a half-smile. When Charlie found his gaze lingering on the slight upturn of Bill's lips, he quickly looked down to the gravel road. Sweat prickled at his neck and armpits. When the sweat met the cool winter air, Charlie shivered and shrugged on his coat.

It was going to be a long walk.

**Author's Notes:** I was debating on whether or not to continue this, but inspiration struck. I'm on a bit of an HP kick right now.


	3. A Complicated Walk

**Morning After**

Part 3: A Complicated Walk

Normally, Charlie would be standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Bill. He would nudge him hard, using his bodyweight to knock Bill into the slush-filled grass that grew in pathetic clumps along the road. Although they only had a good ten minutes to walk clear across Ottery St. Catchpole, they would waste five of those minutes tussling: Bill would grab of handful of slush and mud and stuff it down the back of Charlie's coat. Charlie would put Bill in a headlock, and they would eventually end up with their backs on the gravel, breathing hard.

The walk to the Lovegoods' house should have been fun.

Instead, the two walked far enough apart that Percy, the twins, Ron, and even little Ginny could fit between them if they all stood sideways. Charlie risked a quick glance at Bill. He stood out tremendously against the faded winter background. Mostly, due to his hair.

All the Weasleys had red hair, but Bill's was something different; there was something vitally Bill about it. It curled around the collar of his coat, flopped over his windburned ears, and brushed against his eyelashes. Charlie remembered what it felt like to have that distinct Bill hair tickling his face and tangled in his fingers; it was slightly coarse and smelled of fresh parchment and mint. Until last night, Charlie didn't realize how much hair had to do with kissing.

Charlie felt himself blush for what seemed like the thousandth time that morning; the hot feeling in his cheeks was beginning to make him feel quite put out. It really wasn't fair. Bill was the one who kissed him; therefore, Bill should be the one to be feeling all muddled, not him.

"What are you sulking about?" Bill might have asked had it been any other morning. Then maybe Charlie could tell him, or show him, or do anything besides turn red. Instead, he gave Charlie and odd look, as if it were Charlie who was doing something dodgy.

Charlie glowered at the ground, which was entirely unsympathetic. Spotting a galleon-sized rock that lay so offensively on the ground before him, Charlie kicked it hard. His shoe must have gotten under it, because the rock went up straight up into the air. Charlie's eyes followed the rock as it arched overhead.

It landed right on Bill's head.

"Ow!" Bill yelped, clutching the top of his head.

Charlie winced in sympathy and embarrassment. "Er, sorry about that," he said, feeling immensely foolish. If only that rock hadn't lain there so temptingly, then he wouldn't have felt compelled to kick it. If only Bill hadn't frustrated him in the first place. Stupid rock. Stupid Bill. Charlie was no longer feeling very sympathetic.

"You should watch where you're going," he said rudely.

Bill paused incredulously, his hand falling away from the bump that was forming. "_Watch where I'm going_?" he repeated, outraged. "So that what—I won't walk underneath a bloody rock?"

Chin lifted, Charlie replied obstinately, "Well if you had been watching you could have moved,"

He felt deliciously satisfied to see Bill's face burn red with anger. "What—I—that makes no sense!" Bill spluttered.

"At least I can form full sentences," Charlie said, feeling the urge to stick out his tongue. Before he could stop himself, he his tongue darted out. Bill's eye widened, mouth falling open so that Charlie could see Bill's own pink tongue. Suddenly, Charlie felt quite uncomfortable again, when he remembered exactly what else a tongue could be used for. Who would have thought that the lazy swipe of a tongue on his bottom lip could feel so good? Charlie licked his bottom lip. It somehow wasn't the same.

With a shake of his head and a faint growl of frustration, Bill stomped ahead, leaving Charlie standing alone on the road.

Why did kissing have to be so complicated?

* * *

Compared to the Burrow, the Lovegood house was quite small. There was a garden in the front of the house, with silver forks sticking up from the dirt as if planted there, but no visible garden gnomes. Charlie observed this all with a perfunctory glance; he was much more interested in the lean figure walking in front of him. 

Charlie followed Bill up the walkway, and up the three small steps that led to the porch. Before Bill could reach up and knock, Charlie bit his lip in a moment of indecision. With a determined set in his jaw, he captured Bill's slim wrist, seeker-quick. Somehow, with his fingers encircled around that wrist, no snitch in the world could be more important.

Bill stilled. Slowly, he turned to face Charlie, looking at the hand attached to his wrist with a strange expression.

Blowing upward so that his fringe moved restlessly, Charlie muttered, "Sorry about before."

Bill, from his two-inch vantage, looked down at Charlie. He smiled wryly. "What's the use of a hard head if I'm not going to use it, right?" he joked, knocking lightly on his head to demonstrate. He winced as he accidentally tapped the bump.

Immediately, Charlie stepped closer to examine the wound. One hand continued to hold the wrist, the other deftly probed through the thick hair. He stood on his toes as Bill tilted his head down; the smell of parchment of mint was making him lightheaded. Shaking his head to clear it, Charlie suddenly remembered an old trick of their mum's. Gently, he blew on the swollen area, lips puckered. He had the oddest impulse to brush those lips against the sensitive area. When he heard Bill soft intake of breath, he stepped away awkwardly. The wrist slipped out of his fingers.

"Er, right. Mrs. Lovegood should be waiting," he said, jerking his hand toward the door.

Bill nodded. "We should probably knock," he agreed. With a confident set of his shoulders, he made his way to the door.

**Author's Notes:** This is a short chapter, but I hope you liked it. Thanks so much to dancing in daydreams and luca for reviewing! I'm not really sure how old they're supposed to be in this story. In my mind, Bill is about fourteen and Charlie is maybe thirteen. Even though I'm pretty sure that makes no sense according to the HP Lexicon. :) Again, I really appreciate reviews, so don't be shy with them.


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